Lady Di
by maddy-liddell
Summary: A project I promised to finish for a friend.
1. Chapter 1

Restless shuffles of shoes on carpet shift the paradigm of noise in the hallway. Added to the audio ambience: a flash of lightning, a crackle of thunder, and the shrieks of a woman muffled behind a grand pair of glossy oak doors. "For God's sake, let me in!" shouted the source of the shoe-shuffling; a tall slender man stood dwarfed by the doors, pounding his clenched fists to draw attention. Stress and anxiety shaped his pale face and teased at his fancy button down shirt which was only half tucked into his pants. "She is my wife. I have every right to be in that room at this very moment!" but his argument went unnoticed. Instead, the only reaction to form was a louder crackle of thunder and the longer and more pronounced womanly shriek. But suddenly, all was quiet. No shuffling, no thunder, no screaming—nothing. The man remained at the door with his eyes widened and his ears perked to detect even the slightest tease of noise to break the silence. Finally, the grand doors crept open slowly and a nurse now replaced the barrier between the man and his wife. It was quite a sight to see this woman dressed head to tow in what was a clean white gown but now stained and spotted with fresh blood. "My wife. My child. Blood?" the man pondered too many thoughts at once and couldn't decide on which to ask first or whether to ignore the questions and go straight to his beloved's bedside. The nurse rested her gloved hand upon his chest to keep him steady and calm temporarily. "I'm afraid it is something terrible." She mumbled. "Pardon?" the man squinted his eyes and replayed her question in his head. "I don't understand." The nurse finally lead him over to the bed and the sight made him understood her rabble. His wife lied strained in bed with tears of blood oozing from the corner of her eyes. It was all he could really see, granted the lighting in the room was poor. He barely even noticed the silent doctor looming over his shoulder with his small foggy round glasses pressed to his face. The doctor stretched his arm out to gesture a pointing motion; the tip of his index finger aligned with the woman's torso where a small curled up lump rested against her body. "My child…" the man whispered. "No. Not yours." The doctor replied. Confusion returned to the man who teetered his emotions between joy and depression. From all he could analyze, it appeared his beloved was dead, his child remained quiet, and the doctor and his nurse seemed concerned. Thoughts aside, it was time to finally act. He reached forward and curled his arms under the child to lift it up to his chest. But something seemed… odd. The storm outside brought a flash of lightning to illuminate the room momentarily and in that quick second, his confusion was blighted. His child—his daughter—had glowing eyes and smelt rotten like sulfur. Without saying a word, the doctor and his nurse quickly fled the room and shut the doors behind them. "Wait!" the man shouted while still holding the child. "This place must be cleansed!" was muffled from behind the door. "Quickly! The furniture!" The doctor and his nurse began dragging a couch to the other side of the hall to barricade the doors. A small table, a pile of cleaning supplies, and a heavy grandfather clock soon followed. The man placed the child back down on the bed and rushed to the doors to get them open. But it was no use. He was trapped. From the other side of the doors, the doctor lit a match and set the pile ablaze. The smoke quickly built up and the flames soon followed. It didn't take long for either to penetrate the doors and seep in through the space underneath. The room now filled with smoke that choked his lunged with a misty grasp. He was to die with his wife and abomination of a daughter. So was his fate; he crawled to his wife's bedside and held her still warm hand while clutching his daughter to his chest. As soon, there was nothing more.


	2. Chapter 2

Minutes passed, hours wandered, days progressed—the charred remains of what was once a wonderfully architected French abode stood infinite in time with naught but only a few flakes of dead ember scattering into a neat pile of charcoal dust and the occasional drip of storm water releasing itself from the exposed supports that once held up the ceiling. With the doctor and his nurse's paranoid rabble spreading faster than the fire that ended a family, the townsfolk avoided this particular home in fear of lingering haunts or horrid unknowns. After all, it was quite difficult to explain or express what they had seen. It even struck enough fear to lay off investigations from local authorities.

An interest finally sparked after nearly a week as two priests came to perform blessings at the request of some of the townsfolk. Two men, both equal in height, equal in stubby weight, and equal in hair loss—each sporting their own respected bald spot oasis surrounded by a forest of thinning white hairs—pushed aside the charred furniture and pile of debris to expose the grand doors. Needless to say, they weren't so grand anymore. In fact, the twin doors almost seemed sinister with its blackened coat and grainy spots. One door still pushed open though its hinges struggled and whined. The other door simply fell over with a loud crash. Moonlight flooded the room comfortably through the windows as well as the spots of collapsed wall. In the center of the room: the corpse of a woman still holding her newborn while a kneeling corpse rests his head upon her thighs. The pair of priests began their chant. One held up a thick tome of prayers while the other read and spoke Latin uninterrupted. Words slurred on in the same tone followed by "Amen. Amen. Amen." They proceeded to bless the room until they finally came to the bed. A quick sight caused the priest holding the tome to break the chanting. "Something moved." he whispered. In the embrace of her mother, a sleeping baby lied nestled and unscathed by flames. Her skin appeared smooth and flawless under the dim moonlight and she seemed unbothered by the priests presence no less the fact that her parents lied motionless and dried up around her. "But… How?" the priests put a halt to their blessings to better analyze the situation. The priest that had been doing the chanting curled his arms under the sleeping baby to make sure she was alright. His palm brushed gently past her head and resulted in a small beautiful sigh of comfort. "Precious." he whispered through a smile. He placed the infant back down and as soon as he did so, a thrust poked out of his chest. "She belongs to me." The tome-holding priest had betrayed his colleague and continued his torture by twisting a sharp stake of wood through his torso. Only a few muffled murmurs escaped the blood draining lips of the dying priest just before he collapsed. "She belongs to me…"


End file.
